Since I Was Six Years Old
by jkleeberger22
Summary: Little Cassian is on a mission during the Clone Wars and ponders hugs.


**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Star Wars. All rights belong to Lucasfilm and Disney.**

o0o

A man, escorted by two clone troopers and dressed in a snappy uniform with an insignia that indicated a high rank in the Republic military, paused at one of the marketplace stalls. His eyes ran over the merchandise and crates stacked behind the seller, checking for signs of weapons. The seller spoke calmly, but the little boy crouched unseen nearby knew she had to be getting nervous. Her fists were clenching and unclenching, and her subtle glances around her stall were beginning to reveal a hint of panic. She did trade ammunitions with the Separatist cells in the system, a fact which was sure to come out any moment.

Just as the man's questions were growing sharper and more pointed, he felt a small tug on his shirt. When he looked down, a child's wide, brown eyes were staring up at him.

"You're a Republic officer, aren't you?"

He cleared his throat, gently prying the child's fingers off his uniform and straightening it. "Yes, I am."

"I wanna be an officer someday! My father was killed by Separatist scum."

The officer grunted in surprise as two small arms were thrown around his waist and he found a head of dark, shaggy hair snuggled against his stomach. "Thank you for protecting us from them."

Unsure of what else to do, he reached out and patted the child's head. "You're welcome, boy."

Behind the officer, the clone troopers snickered under their helmets. The child drew back, flashing them a wide, shy smile and waving before darting off into the crowd.

"Uh, cute kid," the officer said sheepishly.

The seller nodded, her composure returning as the man's slipped away. "Yes," she agreed, hiding her smirk and clasping her hands demurely behind her back. "Very cute."

The child slipped through the jostling, chattering humans and aliens, drawing no more attention than if he had been a shadow as he ducked under arms and around legs. He stopped in front of a human adult—well, a fifteen-year-old, and that counted as an adult during wartime.

"Did you get it?" the young man, wearing clothes that mimicked the casual greens and browns worn by the natives, murmured.

The child nodded. "Yeah, Jos."

"All right, then it's time to go home."

Young as he was, he knew that the word "home" was used only for the sake of secrecy, to continue the illusion of two brothers running an errand at the market. They didn't have a home, not truly.

The boy hopped up into the copilot's seat, strapping himself in. Jos, punching coordinates into the ship's computer, paused and held out a hand. "Here, let me take a look at it, Cassian."

The child obediently reached into his brown jacket, which still carried the sweat and dirt stains of countless days, and extracted the object of their mission.

Jos flipped over the identification card and studied it with a practiced eye. "Valid, and he's allowed full access to Republic computers and intel. We'd better hurry and get this to headquarters so they can get into the database before the card is reported missing. Good work, Cassian."

The older boy handed back the card and scruffed Cassian's hair. "You got it, so you get the pleasure of handing it over to command."

He was pleased that Jos was letting him take the credit, but the knowledge of a job well done and Jos's approval were good enough for him. Jos was like a big brother to Cassian, teaching him fighting techniques and letting him sleep in his bunk when he had nightmares.

"Speaking of that officer," Jos continued. "Do you think he suspects you? Flying casual will attract much less attention, but if those troopers are going to be on our tail, I need to plan a fast exit. How'd you get the card?"

"I took it out of his pocket while I was hugging him."

"You were hugging him?"

Cassian shrugged. "After I thanked him for protecting me from Separatist scum."

The boy's ability to lie would have been disturbing if he hadn't needed it to survive. Perhaps that an eight-year old's life depended on his ability to deceive was what made it so disturbing.

"I didn't even know you knew how to hug, Cas," Jos said lightly.

Cassian crossed his arms and stared straight ahead, which, given his height, was at the blinking lights and maze of switches on the ship's control panel. "My mother taught me."

He missed her. He missed her warm arms snuggling him close when he was shivering with chills from a fever. He missed her delicious food when he was eating squashed rations from his pocket. He even missed her glares and shouts of "Cassian Jeron Andor!" when he did something he wasn't supposed to.

Jos saw the sadness in his eyes and lifted a hand off the controls to rub Cassian's arm. "I'm sorry, buddy. I was just teasing."

Cassian didn't answer, but he had forgiven his friend. It was true that he never gave hugs anymore. He felt, although he couldn't exactly explain it, that a hug was so much more than a gesture. When you hugged someone, you gave them a little piece of yourself, and while he would trust his comrades with his life, he couldn't trust them with that little piece of his soul. He supposed that trust was another thing that had died with his parents.

And like them, it could never be regained once it was lost.

Something inside of him still hoped, though, that maybe one day he could find someone who would understand. Someone he could hug.


End file.
